


Scandal

by RogueBelle



Series: Betrothal Series [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blackcest, Death Eaters, F/M, First War with Voldemort, House of Black, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Incest, Pre-Canon, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 17:58:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4531608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueBelle/pseuds/RogueBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prodigal son of an Ancient and Most Noble House crashes an engagement party. | <i>There had been whispers -- less than gossip, less that rumours, merely the tiniest fragments of hints -- about the dazzling pair of Black cousins</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Scandal

**Author's Note:**

> cf, as ever: [My reasoning on the Black family tree and timeline](http://alyxbradford.livejournal.com/42255.html). I will shamelessly confess that this ficlet was inspired by Garth Brooks' "Friends in Low Places"
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please check out [my blog](http://cassmorriswrites.com)! I also write original fiction, and my debut novel will be out January 2018.

The Lestranges' celebratory ball followed a few nights after the Blacks'; the first obligation for a fête, of course went to the bride's family, but Mrs Lestrange would not be denied her chance to prove to the wizarding world what a successful match her family had made. This, she knew, would quell at last the lingering comments about House Lestrange's precarious position in society, would quiet the suspicions and whisperings of their peers, for who else could claim such an advantageous alliance as the one their scion had just made, to the House of Black?

The betrothed couple received all the attention that was their due; they made a handsome pair, two sparkling jewels of youth and energy. Whether intentionally or not, they had even dressed to match: the silk of Rodolphus's impeccable frock coat was the same fresh-blood crimson as Bellatrix's tight-bodiced gown. He cut an impressive figure, with jet buttons on his coat, matching the pitch black of his waistcoat and glossy boots; and Bellatrix radiated, a swirl of scarlet satin as she waltzed merrily through the hall, laughing and tossing her head in high spirits, setting her jeweled ear-bobs to jangling in imitation of her laugh.

Narcissa and Rabastan, the younger siblings, had been relegated to lesser importance by even their own families, ever since the engagement had been announced. Narcissa bore it with greater grace than Rabastan, whose face fell into a slight sulk whenever he thought no one was looking. But, demure and deferring as ever, Narcissa would not for all the treasures of Egypt deny her sister this happiness, for so long as it lasted. It would be her turn soon enough; indeed, Narcissa wondered how long Lucius would wait before making a formal proposal out of the agreement she knew their families had long ago tacitly come to, now that he had to watch vibrant Bellatrix, claimed by another.

 _'Men can be so foolish,'_ she thought, standing near the ballroom doors with a flute of champagne perched in her pale, slender fingers. For all the courtesy Mr Malfoy paid her, it had never escaped her attention that he often showed Bellatrix a very different sort of attention. She knew the captivation her wild-spirited sister would have for a man of such restrained passions as Lucius Malfoy, but she knew equally well that Bellatrix would never make the sort of wife Lucius would desire. Narcissa had recognised these truths years earlier, but somehow it seemed to take Lucius a sight longer to reach the same conclusions.

Her contemplations on fitting matches were interrupted when the doors behind her banged open suddenly, in the dramatic fashion sure to command the attention of everyone in the room.

She should not, perhaps, have been surprised to see that a member of her own family -- or, at least, a former member -- was responsible for the disruption.

Sirius Black, looking distinctly disheveled, and with the scent of whiskey clinging almost overpoweringly to him, pushed past the few people huddled near the doors, taking loud, angry stomps that resonated to the vaulted ceiling. The dancing stopped, though the enchanted instruments continued to play a lively waltz, _one_ -two-three.

Bellatrix, who had come to a stop at the near end of the ballroom, looked as though she couldn't decide whether to be shocked or just plain mad. A colour to match her dress had risen in her cheeks, and her dark eyes had shot wide, with fury or surprise. 

In his cups though he might have been, Sirius was not so drunk that he couldn't stride straight up to his target. "My dearest Bella," he said, dropping her an extravagant bow. His hair was uncombed, matted slightly in places, though thick locks still fell in haphazard clumps over his face. When he straightened, Bellatrix could see that he had not shaved, a haze of stubble shadowing his cheeks and chin. His shirt was misbuttoned, with deep creases worn into both it and his trousers. Clearly he had been in the process of inebriating himself for quite some time, and Bellatrix even though she could see the outline of a flask in his pocket.

"You're drunk," Bellatrix snapped, even as Rodolphus's arm tightened possessively around her waist.

"Not nearly enough, O Fairest Rose," Sirius replied, his customary irreverent laughter tinged with irony and acid. His words slurred only slightly; Sirius always had shown a proclivity towards becoming more eloquent when intoxicated.

Bellatrix stepped out of the protective circle of Rodolphus's grasp and moved towards Sirius, her chin thrust high, disdain sparkling in her onyx eyes. "What are you doing here, traitor?" she said, her voice a snarl though barely above a whisper.

All the cruelty of a viper's sting lances through his grin. "I wanted to toast the _happy_ couple, of course," he drawled. "Really, Bella, I'm hurt that I wasn't invited. But!" He whirled, taking a champagne flute from the tray of an astonished-looking serving girl. "I was so certain it must've been an unfortunate oversight that I decided t' drop on in anyway." He threw back the glass, pouring the champagne straight down his throat, then let the glass drop to the floor and shatter. No one moved to vanish it away; no one would have dared approach the scene.

Bellatrix's expression was one of perfect rage, unmatched rancor. "You know perfectly well why you weren't invited, Sirius."

Rodolphus watched, with mounting jealousy, the look that passed from his glassy eyes to her fathomless ones. There had been whispers -- less than gossip, less that rumours, merely the tiniest fragments of hints -- about the dazzling pair of Black cousins, about intended betrothals, about the well-laid plans of generations destroyed by a prodigal son's impetuosity. And there had been even fainter murmurings that there had once been something between the family's most passionate, most fiery scions. It went beyond intrigue; they only spoke of it who might have been in a position to know, but could never confirm, and unlike most of the scandals of their set, somehow this particular calumny had become too delicate, too soul-piercingly terrible to be traded about like common slander.

Rodolphus had never paid it much mind. He had seen firsthand the venomous hatred Bellatrix espoused for blood-traitors, for anyone who turned his back on the dignity of their class, and he knew how fully she disavowed herself of the wayward sheep of her own family. For as long as he'd known her, she could not bear to hear her elder sister's name spoken, and when Sirius had run away, instantaneously the same maxim applied to him. Rodolphus had only caught the barest of the whispers, and had dismissed them out of hand.

Until now, until seeing the quaver of Bellatrix's eyelashes, the shaking that came not wholly from rage; until seeing the possessive hunger in Sirius Black's eyes, the devouring intent he knew too often entered his own countenance, the reason-obliterating desire to _own_ , to lay claim to what he considered rightfully his. Rodolphus knew that look because it lived in his feelings towards Bellatrix, and he too easily recognised it in Sirius.

So when Sirius stepped closer to Bella, it was all Rodolphus could do to keep from casting an Unforgiveable on the spot.

"Pretty, pretty Bella," Sirius said, roughly caressing her cheek.

Bellatrix's quick fingers seized his wrist, forcing his hand away from her face. "You don't call me that," she fiercely declared, leaving unspoken, _'You gave up that right.'_

But, defiant as ever, Sirius smirked and went on, "Pretty Bella, my pretty Bella."

"I am _not_ yours!" Bellatrix spat, louder than she'd intended to, for her words carried to the skylights, echoing in the breath-still room.

"No," Sirius mused darkly. "No, you're not, are you? You've sold yourself to Lestrange." Contempt laced his voice and sizzled in his eyes. "Does he have the _faintest_ idea what he's getting?" he asked, as though the wizard in question were not three feet away from them. "Let me see this." His voice was a gruff rumble as he seized Bellatrix's left wrist, pressing his thumb hard just at the pulse point, gratified to feel its rapid pace. Her flush of anger was difficult to differentiate from cheeks reddened for other reasons, but Sirius had had time to learn, and plenty of cause.

He shifted his grip, bending her fingers towards him as though to bestow a courtly kiss, but pressing so hard Bellatrix partly thought he might break them. He curled her hand towards him so that her engagement ring's prominence could not be ignored.

His low, half-bitter, half-victorious chuckle grated at her. Only a quick glance at Orion, who shook his head almost imperceptibly, kept her from going for her wand again.

"Oh, Bella," Sirius said, raising his moonlit eyes to her. "He so nearly got it right." He ran his thumb over the enormous diamond in the centre of the band, flanked by small rubies and emeralds. "So nearly... but, darling Bella, I will _always_ have known you better."

In one swift movement, Sirius's hand released hers and delved into the pocket of his rumpled jacket, whipping out a delicate band of white-gold. He grabbed her right hand and rammed the ring down hard onto the third finger, with such a ferocious push that Bellatrix couldn't hold in a gasp of pain.

"There," Sirius said, taking a step back, the drunken mock-joviality fading from his tone. "There's the ring you should have had."

The spite in his voice nearly unmanned her; even worse was the accusatory reproach in his eyes, the incongruous harsh lines set on his face, the bladed edge grated to his nature, still so boyish in so many ways, in all ways but this.

She wanted to turn his indictment back on him, to remind him that it had been _he_ who had left, not her, that _he_ had been the one to undo their joint future, not her, and how dare he return and censure her for his own fault? The words were on her lips, hanging heavy there, yet she could not give them voice, not with so many who would then bear witness to her grief and the heart-tearing events of her past.

 _'Draw,'_ she told herself. _'Draw your wand and teach him a lesson about intruding in your affairs.'_ But her hand would not move, too limp at her side, as though the sparkling ruby ring weighted it in place.

Ultimately, she was spared the trouble of having to dispatch him herself. As Sirius gave another deprecating laugh, rubbing at his rough chin with one hand and reaching out to Bellatrix with the other, Rodolphus, behind him, drew his wand.

"I think," Rodolphus said, his umbered voice steely and cold and, Bellatrix recognised, at its most dangerous, "that you would do best to remove yourself from the premises."

Grinning wickedly, Sirius turned, pale eyes glinting like a scimitar's edge as he rounded on Rodolphus. "To the rescue, eh?" he mocked. "But you're hardly a knight in shining armour, and she's _far_ from a damsel in distress." Bellatrix felt her fingers twitch, yearning either to go for her wand or strike Sirius across his insolent face.

When Sirius drew his wand, something in Bellatrix's chest jumped. She would have gone for her own, but for the ice of Rodolphus's features, telling her without a word that this was no longer her fight. So, too, did her father's expression indicate; Orion watched the proceedings without intervening, but when Bellatrix's eyes met his, he shook his head almost imperceptibly. Rodolphus had staked his claim, and now had to defend it.

They were not the first two men to duel over her. In younger days, Bellatrix had taken fiendish delight in provoking exactly this kind of confrontation, but today, the would-be thrill of it froze around her heart, like a frost come too soon, chilling green lands under midnight's cloak.

The fight was short, and nasty. No showing off, no flourishes or niceties or impressive gestures; Rodolphus had no intention to display, and Sirius was in no state of sobriety enough for them. Bellatrix knew them both for excellent duelists, but Sirius's form was sloppy at best, and Rodolphus easily dispatched him with a series of quick, merciless strikes. Several purple flashes, a few yellow bursts, and Sirius was on the floor, bleeding from a split lip and several lacerations on his face, chest, and arms.

Wiping at the blood on his mouth with the back of his hand and breathing quite heavily, Sirius glared up at Rodolphus. "All right, Lestrange," he growled, the look in his eyes, if possible, even more embittered than when he had first come in, "let me up. I'll go." Bellatrix could see him shaking, with rage, with shame, with defeat.

Sirius stared up at Rodolphus, feeling a seething hatred crawl through his body, mangling every thought. Before, he had despised Lestrange out of hand, as he despised every one of Bellatrix's paramours and fawning admirers. Now, he had good cause. Sirius would not soon forget this humiliation, even if it had been of his own making.

Rodolphus stepped back, but did not sheathe his wand, keeping it firmly trained on Sirius. "Now, then, if you would be so good," he hissed, with only the thinnest veneer of civility. For his part, Rodolphus found himself harbouring a desire to kill Sirius just for his insolence, for the audacity he displayed in trying to assert any hold on Bellatrix. _'She is mine, and you will not forget it, Black,'_ Rodolphus thought, barely restraining himself from murdering the interloper in the middle of his mother's ballroom. _'Salazar grant I may have the opportunity to teach you a more thorough lesson someday.'_

Moving slowly, obviously in pain from the beating he'd just taken, Sirius staggered to his feet. With a careful eye on Rodolphus's threatening wand, he pushed himself up, sweeping his ragged ebon hair out of his eyes. "I'm goin'... I'm goin'..." The men's eyes met for a brief moment, as each marked the other for an enemy of renewed threat and dynamism, as each thought, _'This is not over.'_

In the silence that followed Sirius as he tramped out of the ballroom, Bellatrix jerked the ring off of her right hand and, without looking at it, hurled it to the ground. It bounced several times before spinning on a tile near the door, but Bellatrix had already turned away from it, her stormy expression clearly suggesting that everyone should act as though the entire scene had never happened.

Rodolphus moved back to Bellatrix's side, sheathing his wand and taking possession of her arm. With the ease of command inherent to his nature, Rodolphus indicated through a gaze about the room that the show was most definitely over. Slowly, the guests turned to each other, talking in hushed whispers, then a dull roar, about what had just transpired. 

Narcissa moved to pick up the discarded ring, letting it rest in her ivory palm as she inspected it: a band of white-gold, with a large, square-cut ruby in the center, bordered on either side by a single, small diamond. Hurriedly, she tucked the ring into her reticule. There would be something to do with it someday, she was sure.

Rodolphus led Bellatrix rather forcefully back to the dance floor, and a few other couples followed their example. Only when the party had resumed some semblance of normalcy did Rodolphus address the scandal, and even then, only in brief. His hand clamped with iron resolve at her waist, and he held her hand rather more tightly than was necessary. His eyes would not meet hers, their dark brown depths focused somewhere over her shoulder. Bellatrix knew he was angry, angrier than she had ever seen him, angry past all heat, all of their usual sparks and tempers, and she found it unsettling. When he spoke, it was entirely without emotion, a void more horrific than any irate accusation could be.

"You will never see him again."

And for once, Bellatrix felt no inclination to argue.


End file.
